


A Good Plan

by Rosawyn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Weather, Beer, British English, Canon Compliant, Canon Het Relationship, Canon Related, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, F/M, Fireplaces, Fog, Food, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Honesty, Horseback Riding, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mud, Music, POV Male Character, Plans, Prophecy, Waiting, Weather, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:31:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosawyn/pseuds/Rosawyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post finale. A fixfic of sorts. 'It was several days before Gwaine set out to look for Merlin. To be fair, it was several days before Gaius even let him out of bed.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadameGiry25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameGiry25/gifts).



It was several days before Gwaine set out to look for Merlin. To be fair, it was several days before Gaius even let him out of bed. Once he was walking and able to sit a horse, it wasn't long before he managed to track Merlin down to a tiny, out of the way village where he'd holed himself up like a thoroughly miserable, unnaturally skinny hermit. To be fair, Gwaine had years of experience with tiny, out of the way villages.

The mud that clung to Gwaine's boots and his horse's hooves was dark brown, nearly black. The chill of the early evening fog touched Gwaine with stealthy tendrils. He gave his horse an apple and some well deserved strokes on its dark chestnut neck before going in inside the dilapidated hovel, its weathered pale grey door spattered with dirt and warped so it no longer fit the frame, assuming it ever had.

It was dark inside, and smelled damp. Gwaine shook his long hair out of his face after ducking to get through the low doorway. The windows were shuttered against the light, but the shutters fit about as well as the door, so it was easy enough to see. Somehow the hut even seemed smaller on the inside, just one tiny room with a rough plank floor. The humble fireplace didn't appear to have seen fire in months, worrisome considering the draughtiness of the hut and the generally dreary weather of Albion. There was little in the way of furnishings beyond a sorry excuse for a bed in one corner and a rickety table nearer the door. Merlin sat on a low stool, leaning on the table, his head resting on his folded arms. Gwaine felt a sudden powerful burst of tightness in his chest when he saw his friend, much like what he'd felt when Arthur and he had finally gotten through the door in the Fisher King's tower and seen that Merlin was alive and unharmed. Most of the constant worry he'd felt ever since Gaius had told him Merlin was missing left him—at least Merlin was alive.

Merlin looked up when he heard Gwaine enter and blinked a few times. Perhaps he had been dozing. It was possible the table was more comfortable than the bed, after all.

“Gwaine.” A smile broke out on Merlin's far too thin face like sunlight breaking through clouds after a rain. He stumbled to his feet and wrapped his arms around Gwaine's broad chest, clutching him tightly as he buried his face in Gwaine's muscular shoulder. Gwaine held Merlin tighter and let him be the first one to loosen his grip and pull back.

“Won't you sit down?” Merlin indicated the solitary stool, but Gwaine ignored the offer and remained standing.

“You might have come back to Camelot.” Gwaine laid a hand gently on Merlin's arm, hoping to make up for the hard edge that had crept into his voice. There were plenty of chairs in Camelot. And far better beds. “Gaius worries about you, and he's not the only one.”

Merlin shook his head taking a step back and nearly tripping over the low stool. “No. No, I couldn't go back. Not now.” Tears shone in his eyes. He swallowed and blinked a few times then shook his head again. “I need to wait for him.”

“Wait for who?”

“Arthur.” Merlin pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, blotting his tears with his frayed sleeves. “Kilgharrah said that one day when Albion needed him, Arthur would rise again.”

Gwaine's eyebrows drew together. He didn't know or particularly care who this Kilgharrah was. “Camelot needs him now. Gwen needs him now.”

Merlin's already red-rimmed eyes looked as though they might once again spill over with tears, and Gwaine regretted his harsh tone. Merlin's voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke, “I know. I suppose...the need must become greater than it is now.”

Gwaine sighed. “Did this Kilgharrah give you any idea on how long you might have to wait for Arthur?”

Merlin shook his head again. “No.” He folded his arms tightly across his chest, and bit his lip.

“So...your plan was just to wait here?”

Merlin met Gwaine's eyes sheepishly. “I didn't exactly have a 'plan.'” Tears still roughened Merlin's voice when he spoke, but he offered Gwaine a halfhearted smile.

Gwaine couldn't help grinning back at his friend. “Fair enough.” He grasped Merlin by the shoulder and fixed him with an intent gaze. “How about this for a plan? Get drunk. Stay up late. Kiss someone you find pretty. Spend the day lazing about in bed, because you don't have to get up to fetch anyone's breakfast or clean anyone's boots. Do anything and everything you've always wanted to do but couldn't because you had to babysit the royal prat. For now, your life is your own. You don't know for how long, so you might as bloody well enjoy it while you can.”

It was a good plan. Before he'd met Merlin and ended up roped into being knight with duties and responsibilities to a king and a country, it had served Gwaine well for many years.

Merlin was laughing then. There was deep sadness as well as tears warring with the gratitude in his eyes, but he was laughing. “Do you happen to know of a good tavern around here?” he asked, a spark of his old playfulness in his eyes. “Might as well get started on step one of your plan as soon as possible.”

“I'm fairly certain I saw a tavern on my way into town. If that one's not to your liking, there was another about two hours ride back up the road in the last town. A town can't rightly call itself a town if it doesn't have a tavern.”

“Good.” It was a relief to see Merlin excited about something again, even if it was just the prospect of getting drunk.

It turned out the tavern in this sad little village served warm beer as thin as sweat and not much else. Merlin swirled the drink around in his tankard, his shoulders hunched in disappointment. Gwaine frowned at his own mug of beer, then set it down decisively. “There's only one thing for it—we'll have to ride to that last town. I'm fairly certain they have decent ale there, likely stored in a decently deep cellar. And food even. Hot food.” He regarded Merlin's thin frame—thinner than he'd ever seen it—and the bones that protruded more prominently from his cheeks than they ever had before. “You look like you could use a few decent meals. What have you been eating anyway?”

The guilty expression on Merlin's face as he looked down was all the answer Gwaine needed. He grabbed Merlin by the arm and very nearly dragged him from the sad little tavern, throwing a few coppers on the table with their unfinished beers.

“I don't even have a horse!” Merlin protested.

“We'll share mine.” Gwaine pushed Merlin into the saddle, finding him worryingly light, especially considering how his own recent injury should make lifting things harder. Come to think of it, he was fairly certain Gaius wouldn't approve of him lifting grown men onto horses, even grown men as skinny as Merlin. Not that he cared. At the moment, Merlin's well being was far more important than his own. Well, it always had been, he supposed. “He's a strong horse, and he's like as not to notice the extra weight, what with how thin you are.”

He leapt up behind Merlin and reached his arms around him to take the reins.

“You're sure you won't fall off?” Merlin's voice sounded at once a bit mocking and a bit concerned.

“I'll be fine! I've been riding horses since I could walk—maybe even before. I'm more concerned that you might fall off...but I suppose you can't.” Seeing how his arms formed a protective barrier on both sides of Merlin, that seemed improbable. “Not unless I fall off too, and I think we've just established how unlikely that is.” He gave the reins a flick, and off they went.

It wasn't a long ride, but Merlin was quiet and the lack of conversation made the passage of time seem slower. Every so often Merlin would look back with a sort of sad smile as though he meant to apologize for something, but he didn't say a word.

Gwaine's memory had served him well, and the tavern in this town was much nicer. Bigger, cleaner, brighter. Even the serving girl smiled more warmly at them than the tired old innkeeper had. They sat at a table near the cheery fireplace and Gwaine ordered roast mutton with potatoes, onions, carrots, and turnips, as well as bread in addition to tankards of ale. He also paid for two rooms so they wouldn't have to worry about accommodation later.

The bread was still warm from the oven and came with as much fresh butter as they could want, and the ale was such a marked improvement over the beer at the other tavern that Gwaine sighed in relief as he sipped it. When the meat and vegetables came, Gwaine insisted that Merlin eat more than the few bites he seemed to want, and Merlin complied. Perhaps it was just to make Gwaine happy, but so long as Merlin was eating, Gwaine didn't care about the reasons. As he watched Merlin's face and posture relax, Gwaine smiled to himself.

As the sky outside darkened, a bard in a plumed hat made his way to the centre of the room and began to strum his lute. The tunes were simple and the lyrics often simpler, but it was a pleasant sound all the same. When the tune was sprightly and fit for dancing, the other patrons stamped their feet and clapped along. One man jumped up on a table and began to dance atop it. He tried to pull the serving girl up with him, but their feet became tangled and they both fell. They were laughing along with the crowd as they picked themselves up off the floor, and Gwaine was glad to see Merlin laughing as well.

As the stars came out one by one in the night sky, Gwaine noted that it wasn't nearly as difficult to get Merlin to drink as it had been to get him to eat. In fact, he required no encouragement at all. Gwaine of all people could certainly understand a desire to drink, and drink a lot, but he was relatively sure he'd never seen Merlin drink so much so fast before. Which was fine, really, since that was “step one” of the plan after all.

As the night wore on, the number of other patrons dwindled until the room was empty save themselves, the bard, and the smiling serving girl who kept their cups filled. Eventually, even the bard left. Merlin stifled a yawn and blinked sleepily. “How late is it?” he asked drowsily, rubbing at his eyes.

“I expect it's very near three hours past midnight.”

“Is that late enough?”

“You tell me.”

Merlin's smile was both tired and contented. His naturally pale cheeks seemed almost rosy in the firelight, and his words slurred slightly as he said, “It feels late enough.”

“Good,” Gwaine said as he poured a generous amount of silver coins onto the table. “Because you look about ready to pass out.” Gwaine couldn't help chuckling at how adorable Merlin looked while sleepy and drunk.

Merlin nodded, leaning on his crossed arms on the table.

They leaned on each other as they made their way up the stairs, laughing every time one of them lurched into a wall or stubbed a toe while trying to find the next step. One of the things Gwaine had always loved about alcohol was how funny everything seemed after a few drinks.

They paused by a door at the top of the stairs. “I think this one's yours,” Gwaine said helpfully. “Or, I suppose it doesn't matter, and it could be the next one's yours. I paid for both of them, after all. I expect they're both the same, but you're welcome to whichever you like better.”

Merlin leaned bonelessly against the wall. “I don't want to walk any further,” he whined, then laughed as though it was a joke.

“Then consider it yours.” As Gwaine fumbled for the key the innkeeper had given him, he felt Merlin's hand on his arm. He looked up, shaking his hair out of his face.

Merlin was standing close to him, looking at him as though trying to figure out some puzzle. “I've always found you pretty,” he said, his speech slurring a little, then leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was lopsided and messy, but certainly not unwelcome. Gwaine didn't even register his surprise; he was used to adapting to ever-changing situations. In fact, Merlin had given him a lot more warning for this than he'd had for many a surprise in his life. He kissed Merlin back enthusiastically, his hand finding the back of Merlin's head. Merlin broke the kiss and slumped against him, smiling against Gwaine's neck. “If you don't want to walk any further either, it can be your room too.”

The excuse was so hilariously flimsy Gwaine couldn't help grinning so broadly it almost hurt. “I find I really can't walk another step,” he said in mock seriousness as he finally found the small iron key in his pocket, biting his lip as he tried to work it into the keyhole. These things were clearly not designed with drunk people in mind. Especially not drunk people who had other drunk people hanging off of them. Really, these were doors on bedrooms in a tavern; you might think locksmiths would consider that—make the keys bigger, something.

At last, the ridiculous door gave way, and they stumbled through together. Thankfully, the bed was quite near the door, for Merlin fell forward onto it and Gwaine wasn't sure he would have been able to catch him if the bed hadn't been so close. He kicked the door shut and flopped down on the bed beside Merlin, then sat up and pulled off his boots. Seeing Merlin making no move to remove his own boots, he pulled his boots off too. It was a good thing the bed was large enough for two people, Gwaine thought as he lay down beside Merlin once again. Not that Merlin took up that much space, especially not as he curled himself as close to Gwaine as he could, already mostly asleep. Gwaine kissed the top of his head and pulled the covers over both of them.

“Like your plan,” Merlin mumbled into Gwaine's shoulder.

“So do I,” Gwaine murmured, stroking Merlin's hair. They'd have plenty of time for the whole lazing around in bed thing after a few hours of sleep; he'd paid for both rooms for two nights. As he felt himself begin to drift off, he thought of how he should leave an especially large tip for whoever was meant to clean the room he'd paid for but they weren't actually using.

Life was like that: the unpredictable always happened, and once in Gwaine's life that had meant meeting someone for whom he was willing to do anything, even settle down in a castle and play the part of a noble knight, even bend the knee to a great royal prat like Arthur. Because somewhere along the way Gwaine's plan for his life had quietly changed from 'Get drunk, stay up late, kiss someone you find pretty, and laze around in bed all day whenever you get the chance' to 'do and be whatever Merlin needs, whatever Merlin asks of you.' It seemed to Gwaine that had turned out to be a good plan too, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from fanfiction.net. A huge thank you to TikiPrincess and Esther Huffleclaw for beta'ing this for me!


End file.
